Page 53 of Edge of Unbroken

“Then what?”

“And then I’ll head back out and keep chasing my dreams of being a fancy-pants singer,” she says, shimmying in her seat, smiling at me. “So, this girl of yours, what’s her name?”

My heart squeezes in my chest. “Cat.” I smile as I say her name. It’s almost as though I can taste her on my tongue.

“As in Catherine?”

I chuckle because everyone asks this question. I know it annoys the crap out of Cat who, again and again, is forced to explain that her parents indeed named her after the animal. “No, just Cat. Like the feline.” I close my eyes, picturing her beautiful face.

“You got a photo of her?”

I frown. “On my phone, which I don’t have access to.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“My grandparents took it away from me when I got here.”

“Okay, Rony, you’re obviously holding back. What the hell is going on?”

“Randi, it’s… Fuck…” I groan and rake my hands across my face and through my hair. I know she’ll just keep pushing this if I don’t give her a real answer. It’s exactly how she got me to come clean about my mom hitting me in the first place. She just kept prodding, picking up on my hesitation, the little inconsistencies and red flags. And so, eventually, she got it out of me.

“Rony, how bad did it get with your mom?” she asks softly, her hand on my forearm.

I turn my head toward her, pressing my lips together as I contemplate how to respond without having to venture too far down that dark, scary rabbit hole. I’m still not in a place to deep-dive into my past, not even with my therapist.

“Four months ago she… I was in a coma for almost a week.”

Her mouth falls open in shock. “Are you for real?” Her eyes are wide before they narrow slightly. She lightly traces her index finger under my left eye. “Did she give you that scar?”

I nod. “I was in the hospital for over a month, and when I came home I… I struggled. A lot. So my dad sent me here. And as part of my recovery, I guess, I don’t really get to talk on the phone. There’s a method to the madness… or so I’m told.” I lower my head. I don’t expect her to understand.

“You struggled? Mentally? Like, you thought of hurting yourself?” she asks, not mincing words.

I just nod, unwilling to give life to my darkest thoughts now that I feel like I’m slowly coming up for air.

Miranda chews the inside of her cheek as she studies me, a warm empathy reflected in her blue eyes. “So, do you get to talk to your feline at all then?” she asks with a small smirk.

“Yeah, well, I finally got permission to call her a couple of weeks ago, but I’m only allowed to talk on the phone on Sundays for an hour.”

“Well, that’s fucking bullshit.” She lifts her hips off the seat and pulls her phone out of her back pocket. “Here, call her!” She holds her phone out to me.

“What?”

“Call her, Rony. Right now!”

“I can’t call her right now, it’s… almost two in the morning,” I say. “And almost four a.m. in New York.”

“So?” she says. “Don’t you want to hear her voice?”

“Of course I want to hear her voice, but—”

“But what, Rony? Are you afraid of breaking the rules again? You know I’ve never cared about that.”

“I’m well aware,” I say dryly and bite my bottom lip, my fingers itching to take her phone and dial Cat’s number. Even if she doesn’t answer, I could let it ring until her voicemail answers, and I would get to hear her beautiful voice for a few seconds; I could tell her that she’s constantly on my mind, that my soul aches for her not only when I’m awake, but when I’m asleep, too.

Finally I snatch the phone from Miranda’s hand, and she grins victoriously. She leans back in her seat and crosses her arms behind her head as I dial Cat’s number, which, of course, I know like the back of my hand. But she pouts when I climb out of the truck cab and shove the door shut behind me.

It’s fucking freezing, and I shrug my shoulders upward as the phone rings and rings.

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